


A Posse Ad Esse

by Sporadic_Writer



Category: Inception
Genre: M/M, rarepairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:12:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6705730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sporadic_Writer/pseuds/Sporadic_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Inception succeeds, Saito and Fischer meet to discuss the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story in 2012, and I am just archiving it here.

Status of work: Complete. Will be posted in two parts. Epilogue/Extra possible.  
Characters and/or pairings: Fischer/Saito, faint Cobb/Saito, Fischer/Other  
Rating: Mature  
Warnings, kinks & contents: Sexual activities described.  
Length: Roughly 9,500 words.  
Author's note: I don't remember where I first heard about Saito and Fischer as a pairing, but I was pretty surprised. I didn't notice Fischer very much in the movie even though I'm a fan of Cillian Murphy. I could definitely see Saito and Cobb as a pair; some of the dialogue between them is overtly romantic. But Saito and Fischer seemed like a stretch. Naturally, I started trying to figure out how a relationship between those two would work. One main obstacle would be the fact that Saito hijacked Fischer's mind. Another obstacle was the frequent portrayal of Fischer as this wimp in fanfiction since I actually felt that it was out-of-character and not a good match for Saito. Granted, I didn't think of Fischer as having a noticeable backbone until another author (I can't remember; sorry) mentioned that his reaction to being held hostage was relatively badass. Anyway, it was a challenge writing this fic, but I am proud of it. 

Final Note: I adhere to the writing school of thought in which we show, not tell, but sometimes that means the readers aren't getting everything that we think we're sending, so please let me know if you have questions or comments.

Summary: Saito has survived Limbo, and he's back ensconced in his real world. But the effects of Limbo are not so easy to shed, and during the dismantling of Fischer-Morrow, in every meeting with Fischer, Saito grows more aware that the other man has intriguing depths. So, mind games and etc. commence.

 

 

Saito held his right knee and rubbed thoughtfully at the tendon and muscle underneath while a part of his mind recoiled at the firm smooth flesh of a relatively young man.

The physical pains were coupled with the strange double vision that he sometimes experienced, particularly when he was tired or in the half-asleep stage in early morning. Two days ago, he had tersely called his assistant up to deliver his eyeglasses, only to be regarded with utter bewilderment, an expression he could see quite clearly several feet away from his desk.

If he believed in karma, he would have supposed that it was only right to suffer a few side effects from his jaunt into Robert Fischer’s mind. As it was, Saito was focused on choosing an appointment time for a massage tomorrow so that he would be in the right mindset for the business meeting later that day.

He breathed in the steam from his green tea and firmly ignored the rumblings from his stomach that persisted in showing displeasure at the rich meal (blackened salmon and tender asparagus with a rather nice Burgundy) that he had indulged in earlier.

Call him perverse, but he was curious whether Fischer would recognize him from the dream. Previously, they had met briefly at various functions where the rich gossiped, partnered up, and betrayed. Saito’s attention had been on Maurice Fischer, but he hadn’t failed to notice the distant expression that Robert Fischer maintained at all times when he accompanied his father.

Such total disregard had amused Saito. Especially that one time quite a few years back when a clumsy waiter had dropped a hot towel into Robert Fischer’s lap. Not many men could stay so calm in the same situation. With less self-control back then, Saito had embarrassed himself by laughing involuntarily and drawing an icy glare from Fischer who had transferred the same look to the unfortunate waiter stumbling back.

If Inception worked, then Saito could take pleasure in absorbing Fischer-Morrow’s choice projects and employees while opening the playground for less worthy competitors. 

If Inception had failed, then Saito would have to consider another method of dismantling his chief competitor. Balance was an integral part of life, he endorsed strongly.

Saito watched the cool impatience steadily grow in Robert Fischer’s eyes as their chosen spokesmen and lawyers volleyed back and forth with ambiguous wording and subtle take backs. 

Ruefully, he could sympathize.

If his hands didn’t hurt so much from phantom arthritis, he would have filtered the conversation until his direct input was needed. Blocked from daydreaming, Saito kept his hands together under the table as the agreements finally started to solidify. 

“Proclus Global plays a strong role in the energy market, as you are aware, and we have an obligation to our customers to arrange this to their satisfaction,” Akimoto-san put forth smoothly with an intractable smile.

“Fisher-Morrow is renowned for our history and influence. Our subsidiaries span the whole world, and our partners require assurances that pivotal relationships remain strong and present,” Mr. Foley returned with equal amiability. 

Saito sighed inwardly. No, he’d been precipitous. 

Fischer coughed abruptly and deliberately, inserting himself smoothly just before Akimoto-san’s reply. He waited for all eyes to rest on his, especially Saito’s, before gathering up the documents and pushing back his chair.

He tapped the papers gently into an organized sheaf before he looked up and graced them with a slight smile.

“We’re nowhere near a conclusion. Gentlemen, I’m afraid that six is a crowd. I’d like to continue the meeting with Saito-san alone, if he agrees.”

Akimoto-san eyed the Fischer-Morrow personnel with intense suspicion as he whispered discouragingly into Saito’s ear. Saito listened carefully and then waved him off after a nod.

“Of course, Mr. Fischer. I value efficiency in all matters.” Fischer couldn’t think so lowly of him as to attempt any paperwork unseen by Akimoto-san and his other counselors.

With the night looming, they ordered coffee and pastries to stave off the hunger pains and settled down to battle.

After a few remarks that recapped their lawyers’ conversation, they paused to sip at their drinks and prepare new arguments during the standstill.

Fischer put down his cup and pursed his lips before leaning forward. His blue eyes bore into Saito’s as he sighed deeply before he smirked. “Let’s cut the BS. You’re not signing any documents that Akimoto doesn’t go over with a fine-toothed comb, and I won’t even touch paperwork that doesn’t match my set of criteria.”

“And yet here we are,” Saito pointed out, reasonably.

Fischer laughed. “Saito-san,” he said confidingly, the polite honorific somehow extraneous on his tongue, “We haven’t talked personally for a long time. In fact, I recall that we only ever talked once, but that’s why I carried away a deep impression. You didn’t strike me as a man who tolerates circular debates past the point of requirement.”

“You strike me the same way,” Saito laughed, as he searched his memory. Had he really spoken with Robert Fischer outside of the usual pleasantries? He doubted that their chat had been significant if he couldn’t recall it easily, yet being in the dark never sat well with him, and he made a mental marker to return to the subject at a later point.

He stepped forward. “I’m curious, Mr. Fischer.” He saw a flicker in the other man’s eyes but couldn’t decipher it. “From all sources, I have heard that your decision to dismantle, excuse my diction, your father’s company was rather sudden. I didn’t expect that you would have particularly strong thoughts about the methods.”

Noting Fischer’s furrowed brow, he added cruelly, “I was pleasantly surprised today to hear of your future goals.”

A familiar chill garnished Fischer’s eyes as he first blinked and then stared furiously at Saito.

“It’s getting late.” Saito broke the silence. His hands no longer ached, but he was tired and ready to retire for the night. And he was beginning to wonder if his last point resulted more from current personal aggravations than from business acumen. “We can finish our discussion at another time.”

 

After a hot bath and a good night’s sleep, Saito woke up and pondered his words from the previous day. He thought that Robert Fischer had pride enough to perhaps decline Proclus Global’s offer and go with that of a lesser company’s. 

Saito brainstormed as he went through his calisthenics. Proclus Global could always buy out that unknown lesser company, but Fischer would be astute enough to think of such a possibility and make things difficult if it struck him. 

Saito’s business phone vibrated gently on his living room table, and he answered it as he flexed his hands, feeling relieved at the ease with which his fingers moved. “Yes?”

“Pardon me, shacho,” his regular secretary, Miyagi-kun, spoke out. He was surprised to hear that she was back. Her sister, Mayu-chan, must be doing well.

“You have a message from Mr. Robert Fischer of Fisher-Morrow. Mr. Fischer invites you to join him at Spice Market, New York, for dinner at 8:00pm this Friday.”

Miyagi-kun was crisp and professional until the end where her voice lifted in a slight questioning tone. If he gave any such indication, she would communicate a firm refusal and dissuade further contact on his behalf. 

“Tell Mr. Fischer that I accept his invitation,” Saito decided after a long moment. Perhaps he should have allowed Akimoto to handle the negotiations after all. He wondered if prolonged contact with Fischer would exacerbate his memories of Limbo.

 

He walked exhaustedly along the dark wood paneled walls of his study. Every few steps he would pass one of the uncountable human figures that populated his mind, and they, man or woman, would bow respectfully and inquire if he needed anything. Polite at the beginning, he had grown weary of their constant deference and once screamed at them to leave him in peace. Ironically, it was the only thing that they could not give him.

He gasped for breath and sank heavily to the ground, his back against the wall and vaguely aware that he was tipped to the side against a helpful projection’s shoulder. He wiped the tears of strain from his eyes and was caught with horror at his heavily wrinkled and gnarled hands. 

He shuddered with revulsion at his old body, but couldn’t muster up much else; he felt worn out, body and spirit. He gazed dully around the room. Was this all he would have achieved? 

Isolation in opulent surroundings, waiting until his ancient heart finally gave out. He knew that he had done and seen so much, but those memories were faded and tenuous. He dreaded remembering them; he suspected that closer examination would reveal his triumphs to be petty. 

The grandfather clock high up began to chime at the hour. It was the only sound he ever heard here. For years and years.

He liked his quiet. But this, whatever this was, it terrified him. His pulse thudded heavily and erratically as he fell from his natural dream.

His bedside alarm chimed again in its peaceful melody. He covered his face with one arm before anger overtook him, and he threw his pillow across the room. It swiped a filled vase, and the unexpectedly loud crash of thin porcelain shocked and shamed him.

He lay back down and stared up, his tired eyes blurring the ceiling into a large swatch of mahogany and black.

Eventually, he removed his clothing and showered with his eyes closed, one hand making good use of the shower sponge to get clean without touching skin. He left off the robe and walked to the full-length mirror on his bedroom door. 

He straightened his shoulders and lifted his head and forced himself to look, from the pure black hair plastered to his forehead, the smooth-shaven chin, strong shoulders and muscled torso, legs balanced firmly on feet that should have been entirely unfamiliar with the chronic pains of age.

The slight chill in the air stirred the hair on his arms and chest, and his body reacted, despite his headache and ill mood. He reluctantly chuckled to himself. He needed no other sign to confirm his actual body’s vigor.

 

Saito strode deeper into the restaurant, leaving Akimoto-san and the others at the front with their own table. Somehow he and Fischer had settled on an unspoken agreement to continue meeting privately. He supposed that they could more easily bare their claws that way.

Fischer was already sitting at the table. A waiter hovered discreetly nearby until Fischer gestured for him to fill the wine glass at the empty seat. When Saito refused the subtle proffer of a menu, the waiter cleared the cutlery and left the bottle of Chateau Margaux 1995 with a bow.

They weren’t there to eat.

“You didn’t let me finish last time,” Fischer remarked calmly. He swirled his wine but didn’t drink, eyes fixed on the tiny swells.

“We have time enough now,” Saito said; he smiled to himself at his private joke. Time would never again be a light topic for him.

He shrugged agreeably. “Your list of criteria for the buy-out. What are they?”

“I wasn’t referring to the buy-out. But it’s related, so you don’t have to worry that I’m trying to waste your time.” 

“Oh?”

“You don’t remember the conversation that we had. If you did, you wouldn’t be surprised about my goals now.”

Saito looked indulgent. “I apologize. I can’t count the number of conversations that I’ve had over the years. Maybe you can enlighten me.”

“I’m going to,” Fischer returned. “You’re the one who gave me the idea.”

Fischer said more, but Saito barely listened as he took a swallow from his glass, buying time to dissect Fisher’s meaning. It was possible, yet—

“I gave you the idea,” he repeated firmly, an eyebrow arched in query.

“It was actually at one of your company celebrations. Proclus Global had just acquired Fuels Unlimited, Inc., and all notable power companies were invited to make nice,” Fischer said dryly. 

“My father had me skip school and accompany him. It wasn’t a particularly interesting experience for a high school senior, and I didn’t appreciate the event’s ramifications until much later. All I cared about was my dad paying attention to me, being proud of me, acknowledging me outside of our house. I was wrong. It was just in style to bring your heir, no matter how disappointing he is.” 

Saito remembered the celebration. Ichiyusai-san, his predecessor, had told him the day before that he had been chosen to succeed the position of CEO upon the old man’s retirement in five years, and Saito had barely been able to sleep for anticipation and joy. Just barely 28 years old, he had given a rousing speech on Ichiyusai-san’s behalf, as the man watched approvingly from his chair on the stage.

But the celebration’s tight schedule would not have allowed him to converse with the other successors for long. Saito began wondering if Fischer had not mistaken him for another Asian man. Hsing De Wu from Global Electric Resources was said to resemble him somewhat.

He studied Fischer’s intent expression and revised his opinion. 15 years was a long time, and each person had his own view of the past. It would be best if he paid careful attention to what Fischer had to say. It would not do to be willfully ignorant. 

“During the appetizers, Lukas Nikonov asked me about my plans for Fischer-Morrow, and my dad actually let me answer. I was eager to share my epiphany.” The tension in Fischer’s hands conveyed the bitterness that his face didn’t.

Annoyed at the individual who had organized the scheduling, Saito took a measured sip of his water and ignored his wine glass. Silently, he began reciting his speech once more before being rudely interrupted in mid-thought. 

“I’m sure I heard you wrong, Robert. What do you mean, ‘Going green?’ Energy has nothing to do with greenery, I hope you know!” 

Despite not being the individual addressed, Saito grew irritated and turned around to see a younger man blush and thin his lips in anger at his opponent.

He insisted, “Fossil fuels are being depleted at an incredible rate. Wind power, solar power, hydroelectric power are all excellent sources of energy that will become common in the future.”

Nikonov laughed again, “Oh, is that what you mean? You need to be a little clearer, Robert. I had the sad impression that you wanted to wave around palm fronds and generate a little air to power your pinwheel.”

Saito eyed the obnoxious young man who reminded him of the boarding school students who used to torment him for his dialectal accent, pretending they couldn’t understand a word he said.

The upset young man sputtered, and Nikonov nudged his fellows, who also began laughing at the ineffectual display.

“My father just sat there and observed. He later told me that I was too meek. He let Lukas run over me because he didn’t think I was man enough to defend myself, that I had better learn how.” Fischer quirked his lips. “Either that, or be humiliated.”

Fisher wasn’t done with his story, but it did sound vaguely familiar. Nikonov was still a rather provocative character with sound bites that showed up frequently in the evening news. Saito broke out of his reverie to ask— 

“Robert.” Peter Browning entered the private room, his forehead creased unhappily, and he leaned down to whisper something urgently into Fischer’s ear. Saito watched as Fischer extended a hand to receive a heavy envelope.

“Excuse me, Saito-san. I believe this will take some time.” Fischer gazed intently at the message clipped to the envelope before passing it back to Browning.

Saito nodded graciously, pushing back his chair. “Of course, Mr. Fischer. You’re a busy man. I look forward to resuming our discussion at a more convenient time.”

 

He took off his socks and shoes before wading into the water. The waves were large and strong, the white foam at the top glistening as they faded in and out. Saito squished his feet in the soft sand thoughtfully. 

In Limbo, he had watched the ocean outside his prison almost daily, but had no further interest, having soon tired of it, until the moment his security guards pushed a bedraggled man to the table. The man with a gun and a top who professed to save him. The man who had eaten like a starving wolf even as his eyes glittered with secrets and his hoarse voice compelled belief.

Dominic Cobb.

Saito’s assistant, Fuji-kun, assured him that Cobb had reached his children with no difficulties. Presumably the man then had the sense to quietly move away with his children. Saito’s influence didn’t reach the neighbors’ active tongues.

When his memories of Limbo had been fresher, Saito had considered contacting Cobb and arranging a meeting. But he had reigned in his desperation for empathy with pure reason.

Cobb’s goals were achieved: he had been reunited with his children, and he had gained some measure of closure with his wife’s death. 

Saito valued the connection that they had forged during Inception, but was astute enough to understand that whatever he had felt wasn’t viable in reality.

The briny water leaked from his cupped hands and fell in drops back to the slow currents twinning past his feet. Still, he lifted his hands and took in the distinct smell of ocean water. His assorted old man’s pains were thankfully recurring less and less as the days passed, but he would regret losing the wonder that he felt now for his natural surroundings, for the microscopic life that apparently milled around in the water he’d just held.

A pity really. No other man had ever pulled another from the depths of old age back to youth and actuality. Cobb was singular, the sort of man who pulled others into his orbit, challenging them to new heights and breaking the boundaries of knowledge and action. 

Saito had always been intrigued by such men.

 

“Shacho,” Akimoto-san called after knocking politely on the doorframe leading to Saito’s office.

Saito automatically saved the document that he’d been reviewing, and gave Akimoto-san his full attention. 

Akimoto-san’s lips were thinned, and he shifted, uncharacteristically ill at ease. Saito began to wonder if the man were not ill when Akimoto-san finally explained the problem.

“Tanaka-san has not been coming to work. Today is the third consecutive day, and Fuji-kun couldn’t reach him on his cell phone or home phone.”

Saito furrowed his brows, as Akimoto-san continued. “I believe that he may have relapsed into his alcoholism. His wife remarried a few weeks ago, and his brother told me that they have been fighting over custody of their daughter, Akane-chan.”

Saito rubbed at his temples while he thought. Tanaka-san was an excellent employee while he maintained his sobriety, and in fact, Saito had ensured that Proclus Global provided the man with paid leave whenever he needed to attend counseling. Unfortunately, he was becoming a loose cannon lately.

Another thought occurred to Saito, and he quickly straightened. His grimace caught Akimoto-san’s attention.

“Yes, I thought perhaps it was related to Inception, but I was unable to get confirmation. As you requested, I have ordered surveillance of Tanaka-san and the others involved in the project, but Nobuo-kun has not reported anything out of the ordinary. Tanaka-san may have started in a popular bar or nightclub, but since we haven’t been able to locate him, he may be in some low-down place.”

Saito considered their options. Tanaka-san did have a reputation for going on a bender every so often, but at such a critical juncture, he disliked having the man missing, doing whatever, perhaps unconsciously spreading sensitive information.

Alcohol loosened a man’s tongue like nothing else. Well, perhaps sex.

“Widen the search. Hire a bounty hunter to reach areas that our men cannot.”

Tanaka-san had been loyal employee for more than fifteen years, but every man reached the end of his career sooner or later. Tanaka-san was longer reliable; Saito would give the man a generous severance package and encourage his retirement.

 

His third meeting with Fischer seemed to be a step back. Bringing their entourages, they both sat there, quiet with their thoughts, as their lawyers shuffled papers and excised displeasing words, phrases, and entire passages from the documents being prepared.

Saito looked calmly and steadily across the room, but Fischer never quite met his gaze, an admirable skill, since the man somehow conveyed that the avoidance was not due to being intimidated, or anything else ridiculous.

Akimoto-san took out a blue manila folder and a black fountain pen. He started making little check marks to his list. The older man had never gotten used to the advent of computers, Saito mused, but he managed very well with his old-fashioned methods.

“We have yet to come to an agreement on five of the subsidiaries, primarily the ones that research and produce alternate fuels. Proclus Global has a great interest in this market, and we would like to present a more appealing offer, if Fischer-Morrow is in talks with another company.”

Mr. Foley clicked his PowerPoint remote, and a bi-colored graph loomed up on the white wall of the boardroom.

“Modern Energy Affiliates is the brainchild of Mr. Fischer himself. As you can see on the graph, the company’s shares have been steadily increasing in value. Naturally, Mr. Fischer is reluctant to entrust his achievements to another president without assurance that he will still be involved.” 

“Of course, we understand that Mr. Fischer may feel possessive of his project, but his role is at the end. Modern Energy Affiliates has done well in recent years, but Proclus Global will pursue somewhat different avenues with the various properties and assets.”

Even as he spoke directly to Mr. Foley, Akimoto-san smiled in distant, patronizing acknowledgment at Fischer.

Arching his brows exaggeratedly, Mr. Foley countered, with a broad gesture towards a second graph, which gave a closer look at the past five years’ advancement.

“Modern Energy Affiliates has experienced exponential increases in the value of its market shares. While our investors rely on the company’s unique approach, Mr. Fischer has garnered the company excellent publicity through his philanthropic efforts in sponsoring various ‘going green’ projects in the local communities.”

Akimoto-san snorted softly, a habit that he had never managed to break despite the coarse air that it gave him. “I assure you, Mr. Foley, our financiers have sufficient skill to map out the most probable growth, which is considerable but not exceptional.”

“Your financiers would be wrong, Akimoto-san. Modern Energy Affiliates has recently launched a new probe into a compound that could increase the efficiency of ethanol-based fuels. Our studies have been very promising.”

Akimoto-san briefly rifled through his papers before looking to Saito, who shook his head slightly in response to the unasked question and then broke in, silencing the others.

“I had the impression, Mr. Fischer, that your secretary had transferred all relevant documents to us before this meeting,” he spoke mildly, as his eyes bored into the other man’s.

Fischer returned the glare with a complacent expression. He seemed more alert than before. “Mr. Wilson assured me that he did.”

A heavy silence fell as every man began flipping through his sheaf of documents, but neither side admitted fault.

Saito didn’t bother looking through his own binder. Instead he held the eye contact with Fischer, and inevitably, he began comparing those blue eyes with another pair he was familiar with. 

The large waves swept the beach clean of his footsteps, and Saito unthinkingly rushed to make more. He treaded from one end of the beach to the other, as he waited again for something truly important. Elegant as his house was, it was vaguely foreboding, and he felt driven to wade in the warm blue-green waters that lapped at his waist.

He had found the ocean soothing until the comfort became unbearable, and he had retired permanently to his house. 

Cobb’s eyes were reminiscent of the ocean on a quintessential beach day. Saito couldn’t say the same for Fischer’s.

Fischer’s shade was somehow “whiter.” But not cooler. The intensity of the man behind the eyes made them flare like—

Saito forced away the unpleasant memory beginning to stir. He turned his gaze to the side where Akimoto-san was drafting notes on the probable impact that the MEA compound would have on the contracts.

Fischer serenely folded his hands in front and studied them. The man seemed to like stringing things out: he hadn’t mentioned their supposed long ago conversation since he’d brought it up almost a week ago.

The atomic clock on the wall ticked along, seemingly growing louder and louder, as the stalemate continued.

Saito broke it.

“Once you have finished with the calculations, let me know,” Saito announced before getting up from the table, impatient for time alone to think. It bemused him that Fischer could incept him in reality by planting the urge to remember a minor incident so many years ago that Fischer had apparently valued.

Saito had stridden halfway to the door before his forthright nature kicked in: if one wanted full information, one should go straight to the source.

Saito turned to Fischer and suggested, “Perhaps you will join me for a drink?”

Fischer gazed into the distance briefly before accepting with a slow smile. “I have a room at The Muse. We can have that drink and talk in private there.”


	2. Chapter 2

“The mini-bar has the usual stock of cordials, beer, and vodka…unless you’d prefer something else?” Fischer was already opening the refrigerator door.

“A beer would be fine,” Saito answered. The Muse had enough Japanese guests that the hotel regularly stocked its mini-bars with quality Japanese brand name beers.

Stifling his desire to precipitate their discussion, Saito casually accepted the cold bottle, briefly noting the Asahi part of the label.

Fischer took another bottle for himself before shutting the mini-bar and turning to lean against it.

They twisted off the caps and drank their beers quietly. 

The soft sounds of their drinking and occasional movement lent little life to the hotel room, but the silence was companionable, to Saito’s surprise, and not as grating as the earlier boardroom atmosphere.

Saito set his bottle on the table, away from the complimentary vase of orchids, and waited politely for Fischer to finish.

It would take their men a few hours to calculate everything and officiate it. He could take his time pinning down Fischer’s game. 

Fischer took both bottles and tossed them casually into the recycling bin beneath the wooden cabinet. Before Saito could say anything, Fischer walked right into his personal space and put a hand on his shoulder.

Fischer’s eyes boldly met his, as Saito’s muscles grew taut with shock.

“If you’re interested. If not, then it’s fine. I’m sure the gift shop downstairs has board games available.”

Saito had to laugh at Fischer’s insouciance, which was almost more appealing than his suggestion. Well, why not? It had been years—it had been several months. And the other man was quite easy to look at. 

He returned the favor and stepped closer to Fischer until their lips were almost touching. 

“Etiquette says that I should offer you the first shower,” Fischer murmured, his breath warm on Saito’s face, as his hand slid lower, intent on its exploration.

Saito looked deliberately from the bathroom seven meters away to Fischer’s eyes so close to his and reached for the man’s blue knotted tie and removed it from the white collar.

The kiss took Saito aback, but he returned it as they made their way to the bed, where the beige sheets were still firmly made. Saito undressed and sat on the bed, back against the pillows, and placed his cell phone carefully on the bedside table. He watched Fischer do the same.

Despite knowing about Fischer’s aikido classes, Saito still didn’t expect the well-defined musculature beneath his fingers and the solid weight that settled against him.

He reminded himself not to underestimate the other man. It would be a juvenile mistake to rely solely on appearances. Fischer’s seemingly slim but strong build reminded him of Cobb’s right-hand man, who had made his competence perfectly clear.

Saito leaned down and bit the long neck in front of him, appreciating the warmed scent of bergamot cologne, and his arousal grew. Fischer reciprocated the interest with an experienced hand moving downward and wrapping around him.

The smooth, warm grip felt good, and Saito had no complaints. He enjoyed the pressure around him for a long moment before brushing a hand thoughtfully over Fischer’s chest, feeling the dark curls, before dropping to the man’s cock.

Fischer groaned into his mouth and resumed the deep, slick kiss.

The almost painful pressure and heat built up low in his body, which warmed further at the caressing touches that Fischer was bestowing on his chest and belly.

He curled his hand tighter around Fischer, changing his strokes to encourage more sounds from the throat he was admiring.

Fischer’s eyes were closed, but they snapped open to stare into his, and their pace quickened, both of them impatient for the end. 

As Saito reached orgasm, he pulled Fischer’s body more tightly against his and readily returned the aggressive kiss pressed on him, tongue tracing roughly around his mouth.

It was an unexpected display of possession, he thought hazily, as Fischer shuddered, gasping for breath, against him.

 

“Welcome to Modern Energy Affiliates!” The tall gray-haired man courteously bowed instead of shaking hands, and Saito appreciated the gesture.

Mr. Montoya guided them through the corridors, machines humming gently behind the thick glass windows, where the chemists and biochemical engineers did their work.

“Proclus Global has been spending the last five years on implementing a new sector for biodiesel fuels, hasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Saito studied Fischer curiously, wondering if the man was having second thoughts about selling his subsidiary.

“I’ve noticed that your company has a focus on domestic production. Acquiring Modern Energy Affiliates would be a nice coup for you. A while back, before I decided to sell my company, I actually started to draft a proposal for the government to subsidize the local farmers who’d agreed to grow wheat, barley, or corn predominantly.”

Saito nodded with interest, as they walked along the white-tiled hallway and made a right to reach the third laboratory, where Montoya stopped them for an explanation. 

“We have a sizeable distillation machine here to break down the corn, barley, whichever, and over here, the resulting liquids stream to the next room to be refined.”

Mr. Montoya gestured proudly at the mass of stainless steel pipes and tanks where the liquids mixed and flowed to an area outside their view.

“I’d like to introduce you gentlemen to the wonderful men and women who have designed our special compound, but I’m afraid that their schedules are rather tight since we plan on doing a lot more testing to confirm our findings before the, ah, merger occurs.”

Saito admired the diplomatic choice of words. Restraining his amused smile, he turned his eyes on Fischer, who nodded briefly in response to Montoya’s explanation and didn’t appear to have noticed the man’s lapse.

Mr. Montoya guided them to a small auditorium, where a PowerPoint illustrating the vaunted synthetic compound had been set up. The silver encircled MEA logo glimmered in the background of the first slide. As they briskly took their seats, the corner of Saito’s mind told him that Fischer was sitting to the back and left of him. He remained oddly aware of the man even as he consciously paid close attention to the presentation.

Standing in the uncomfortably hot noon sun, Saito checked his watch in the shade of a nearby birch tree; the tour had ended a bit earlier than three o’clock, so he had some unexpected free time. He considered his options: lately, he hadn’t been following his physical regimen, and his hotel had fairly impressive facilities, but push-ups and stretches wouldn’t alleviate his oddly restless feelings.

His thoughts derailed, not unexpectedly, at his recognition of the well-heeled footsteps sounding down the walkway and stopping next to him.

“I could take you back to your hotel,” Fischer offered. “I have a few questions about your projects, and I’m sure you have yours about mine.”

Saito had no doubt that their talk would be complemented by other activities. He smirked at Fischer as he walked past the man to the waiting car. 

 

Cobb pressed the cool muzzle of the gun to his forehead, and Saito stared into blue-green eyes, as the bullet knocked into his brain.

He was playing happily on the slides with Tatsuya-kun, but then his friend fell and cut his lip on the harsh metal. Children’s screams rang out until adults came running.

A man shouted hoarsely, as tears ran down his creased cheeks, and he looked at Saito with accusation. He aimed the gun unsteadily while Saito tried to make him see reason.

He walked the beach again and again and again. Finally, he asked his projections to bar the doors and windows; weeks passed before he begged them to tear the bars down.

Miyu-san cried softly with her back to the wall, whirling around with a look of fear until her eyes met his, and she wiped her face, putting on a smile and holding out a hand to him.

The derisive smirks stood out on faces framed by expensively cut hair and careful bespoke suits with styles fit for men, not boys. His classmates crowded him against the wall and mimicked his country accent, shaming him into silence for several weeks.

An arrogant young man swirling his glass of brandy, voice low but still clearly heard as he—

Saito woke up abruptly, staring at the geometric pattern that adorned the hotel room ceiling. He searched his memory, anxiety just at bay, the last wisp of dream fading into the ether, when he remembered very clearly that he had fallen asleep right next to Fischer. He briefly wondered at his lack of control, but the sex had been very good, if a bit odd near the beginning.

He rolled to his side and looked at the man sleeping with his back turned. Saito didn’t often think about what happened to the CEOs whose companies he took over, but he was curious about what Fischer planned to do once Maurice Fischer’s corporation had been fully dissolved and sold.

Fischer had enough money to live a luxurious life, but he didn’t strike Saito as the type of man who liked to be idle. Most likely, he had decided upon another goal in life that did not involve his father’s company or other commerce. 

Saito thought he would always fondly remember Fischer’s obliging company in bed. He expected that it would be a pleasant memory for him as an old man. 

He thought of his dream-self, hunched with the ubiquitous pains of an aged body, memories occasional refreshment in a stale mind. He felt like stockpiling the sweet memories of skin and sweat, bodies tensing in mutual sport; having lived an unexpectedly lonely life, he found himself hungrier in many ways. 

His mind turned curiously back to Fischer and the oddly sentimental streak the man seemed to possess, if his obsession with the past had any bearing.

Saito searched his memory again, but he still did not recall the incident that Fischer had spoken of so mystifyingly. It did not matter, he finally decided, frustrated. He would be very busy in the upcoming weeks, and he had no time to chase down what he couldn’t remember, may never remember.

He lay on his back and tried to sleep, closing his gritty eyes. A clock somewhere in the room ticked incessantly while Saito thought resentfully about a nearby projectile. Finally, he gave up trying to court sleep, rolled over to his side, and reached out for the warm body next to him.

Fischer didn’t seem particularly bothered at being woken in the middle of the night, and Saito could feel the man’s distinct interest stirring near his thigh. Saito encouraged the response with a firm hand moving below and a smooth, slick kiss against a mouth opening in a half-stifled yawn.

As they moved roughly together, the almost painful friction of skin against skin was starkly heightened by the lack of light coming through the hotel room’s partially closed curtains, and before he closed his eyes, Saito noted the aesthetic appeal of their shadows playing against the embossed walls.

The pleasurable tension mounted steadily in an intense build-up that quickly left him satiated and pleasantly drained. He tightened his grip around Fischer and watched as the other man pressed forward forcefully with a sensual groan that almost roused Saito again.

They finally slumped together and continued to rest on the bed, limbs akimbo, for a few more hours, and when his watch hands pointed to 5:00, Saito gave up completely on slumber and took the first shower. As Fischer seemed content to sleep on in the tangled sheets, there was no need to be polite.

When he came out, fully dressed in the suit that he had ordered the front desk to send up, he saw that Fischer too had risen and was sitting, clothed in one of the hotel bathrobes, in the desk chair and typing away, his face eerily lit by the laptop’s glow.

He looked up at the sound of Saito closing the bathroom door. “Next week then?”

Saito hesitated infinitesimally. Their companies’ negotiations were nearly at an end; only another week or so was needed to tie up the final details. He and Fischer may as well make their break now.

But the past few months had been very pleasurable and, Saito suspected, had helped to ground him more firmly in the corporeal life he’d led since the fall into limbo.

“Yes,” he agreed.

 

Robert Fischer sat in a leather armchair in front of the roaring fire. His dark brown hair gained a not unbecoming cast of bronze against the heavy glow of light. Saito allowed the hostess to take his coat before walking to the sitting room near the foyer. He stood outside the ring of chairs.

“I thought you preferred to meet in the suite,” Saito said without a greeting. The fire cast its warmth on him, and he fought the urge to shift away.

Fischer was silent for a moment before smiling faintly, his eyes burnished by the light. “I didn’t want to risk temptation.”

Saito raised an eyebrow. “You had something else in mind?”

Fischer got out of his seat and walked up to him. They stood close together, and Saito felt a stir of unease before rough hands grabbed his shoulders from behind and pulled him back against the armchair that appeared.

Saito would have fought against the heavy restraint, but he was starting to suspect that Fischer had turned the tables and imprisoned him in a dream.

While the projections tightened nylon ropes around him, he tried to remember what he had done shortly before entering the hotel. Logically, he should have spoken with Miyagi-kun about confirming his flight plan for the next month.

But he couldn’t remember actually speaking to his secretary. Nor going back to his office in the first place.

Fischer turned around and sat back down casually, legs crossed at the knees, expensive fabric wrinkling against the strain. He tilted his head and examined Saito with his cool eyes, the chill welcome in the increasingly hot room.

A knife at his throat pressed noticeably close, and his throat warmed as a thin flow of blood streamed out. The sharp pain paled in comparison to the nerveless feeling in his fingers as he fixed on the fireplace mantel.

A tiny flickering flame licked into existence, then another flame, the size of a candle’s tip, then another and another until the whole room was dwarfed by the sudden loom of a horrifying inferno. 

Saito noted Fischer opening his mouth, but the faint sounds escaped his hearing.

He burned.

Opening his eyes wide in sudden fear when his father ran into the room…

 

door banging open and shut…

the wall of rising flames behind him.

He cried and resisted being roughly caught up…

wrapped in his father’s wet, blanket-heavy arms…

the sound of shattering glass…

his arm yanked through the window…

the shocking agony, blood dripping.

Saito gasped for breath, one hand reaching up to his throat and feeling his loosened collar. He turned over and dry-heaved onto the navy carpet. His lungs and stomach ached with the force of his coughing, but attempts to lessen his heaves only further impeded his breathing.

The room thudded rhythmically with footsteps entering and leaving. Strong hands rested on his shoulders, and a cold glass touched his lips. He could smell ginger ale even as he pushed the glass away.

He would have demurred more forcefully if his throat weren’t out of commission. 

He glared at Fischer from wet eyes. It had been years since he thought of Miyu-san and the fire, but he supposed he wasn’t surprised that dreams could be used to torture, to enhance childhood trauma to such a degree.

Piercing screams and rough yells… walls thundering with objects and bodies being thrown…Otousan rising up to use the phone…

Miyu-san giggled mischievously… bittersweet taste of grown-up ice cream, black coffee and caramel…delightfully cold on his tongue…He looked at her with little-boy worship.

Waving good-bye to Okaasan who was leaving to visit her sister and waving hello to Miyu-san who smiled gamely at him out from her blackened eye.

That rough young man of hers—

Otousan had hushed him vaguely, fingers tight around his wound, both of them staring at their burning apartment complex.

Alarmed cries sounded from their neighbors, also safe outside, as they recognized the shrieking figure, long hair and limbs burning, trapped.

Fischer again held out the ginger ale. He wasn’t looking at Saito, but he spoke with a hint of regret. “I didn’t realize that the sedative included a psychedelic component.”

Rather than risk more undignified heaving, Saito sat up slowly and took the glass; the drink washed soothingly down his raw throat and into his acid-churning stomach. 

Still unable to trust his voice, Saito didn’t say anything, leaving the air open for Fischer to continue talking.

“Not the best time for this discussion, but I’m not flattering you when I say that I need every advantage I can get in our conversations.”

Breathing in once, twice, three times, his lungs slowly relaxed their constriction, and Saito felt he could speak without his throat tearing. “I assume this is revenge for invading your mind.”

“Well, not so much revenge as negotiation,” Fischer said mildly, rocking back onto his heels, both men now sitting on the sisal carpet. “I’d be more upset if the dream’s effects had a stronger impact on me, but the most I could say is that they lingered on for some time—gave me some unexpected hope. It was a real disappointment to find that my sudden sense of closure was artificial.” 

Saito shook his head impatiently and suffered minor vertigo. His wavering view of the clock told him that they were in the early hours of the morning. It was beyond his current mind frame to judge when he had been taken under, but he estimated that it had been more than several hours since then.

“Get to the point,” he gritted out, one hand checking his coat pocket for his cell phone.

“I want you.” Fischer said serenely. 

Saito’s fingers fumbled against the slick plastic of his phone. Something in his heart constricted, and blood rushed to his head. Eyes still wide, he stared at Fischer in shock before narrowing with angry distrust. What game was the man playing?

“I want you,” Fischer repeated, as though Saito hadn’t heard him the first time. “And I don’t think I can keep you if I don’t make a few things clear right now.”

Ignoring Saito’s furious expression, Fischer continued talking. “I am perfectly okay with letting you acquire my father’s company and MEA, but I have some caveats that I want to emphasize before we take it back to the boardroom.

“MEA will be a success, and I’m satisfied with being in the background. I don’t see any point in showing my capabilities by playing in the same sand box as my father. I think politics would suit me better than the energy industry.”

Saito’s anger slowly drained away as he absorbed Fischer’s words and saw the ruthless logic behind them and the unspoken offer that he could predict coming.

“You believe that your long support of alternative fuels will give you an advantage in pursuing a political position,” Saito said thoughtfully.

Fischer smiled. “We can help each other out. Strange bedfellows and all that. I like to think that I can see into the long-term, unlike some others I know.

“Don’t misunderstand,” he added, tone dismissive, before Saito could absorb his words and bristle at the perceived insult. “I was referring to someone else—a bully I used to know. But he doesn’t matter, not anymore.”

His blue eyes compelling, Fischer leaned towards Saito, his body warmth almost tangible. “Right now I want to know: are you willing to join me in this partnership?”

Saito didn’t pull away. He sat there on the hotel floor, his personal space encroached upon by Robert Fischer, and just considered the proposal. 

He made the other man wait long minutes before finally extending the hand not holding the ginger ale glass. 

“I’m impressed, Mr. Fischer.”


	3. Chapter 3

Status of work: Complete. Additional scenes for a previous work.  
Characters and/or pairings: Fischer/Saito, Fischer/Other  
Rating: Mature  
Warnings, kinks & contents: Sexual activities described.  
Length: Around 1,800 words.

A/N: I thought about writing a completely separate but related work that provided insights into what  
Fischer was thinking during the events of A Posse Ad Esse, but I had more interest in starting other  
stories and exploring other fandoms, so I fleshed out my ideas a bit, and I have some nice snippets.

 

The Missing Piece of Memory

Robert spoke insistently, cheeks heating up as he argued for his beliefs. “Fossil fuels are being depleted at an incredible rate. Wind power, solar power, hydroelectric power are all excellent sources of energy that will become common in the future.”

He looked around at all the other young men, waiting for support, acceptance.

Lukas Nikonov laughed heartily, and his response slapped Robert across the face. “Oh, is that what you mean? You need to be a little clearer, Robert. I had the depressing impression that you wanted to wave around palm fronds. Well, I suppose you could at least power those little pinwheels. I heard you’re rather, hmm, fond of them.”

Robert’s mouth dropped open in horror as he jerked his head to the side, looking into the crowd for his father, his father who had apparently felt no compunction at humiliating his son by sharing their old recriminations with near-strangers. 

Aware that he was gaping but unable to come up with a scorching response against Lukas, Robert sank into himself, barely aware of the young Asian man sitting a little farther down who tapped his knife sharply against his wineglass. 

Lukas’s attention drawn away, Robert looked up, wondering bitterly if yet another of the company heirs had something clever to add.

“Palm fronds? I expected to hear no less from someone with no eye for innovation and investment. I will give you some much-needed advice: go home and ask your secretary to give you a synopsis of alternative fuels and their expected impact on the energy market. You will find it enlightening. Perhaps.” The softly accented voice was imperious and commanded respect. 

Robert’s hero had time to shrug patronizingly at Lukas before an older Asian man came to the dining table and gestured for him to come away.

 

Shortly Before Inception Takes Place

Robert watched the television screen intently as his chauffeur drove smoothly through the streets to their destination. The current program flashed the photographs and details of the world’s top fifty richest men. His father was mentioned, but Robert ignored that cameo for the one that came next. 

The tall dark-haired man stood calmly at the podium, eyes level and unbothered by the constant flash of photographers’ cameras. 

Robert listened as the man proclaimed his vision for Proclus Global until a phone rang, and Robert picked up to hear his godfather’s worried voice. His father. Coma.

His fingers tightened around the phone, but he resisted the urge to throw it; he slid it shut calmly, knocked on the glass, and directed his driver to change directions. Numbly, he told himself that his wishing for his father’s death after a seething argument didn’t make it so.

Blah. Blah, blah. Blah, blah, blah, bla-blah. Robert thought a bit hysterically that Pete really should have a lower estimation of him. Like his father did. Does. 

Maurice Fischer’s hospitalization hadn’t made the rounds, thanks to stringent Fischer-Morrow privacy controls, but Robert thought he just might give it away.

He really should have just gone to visit his father with Pete instead of making a standard showing at this banal dinner party.

His glimpse of a familiar figure pulled him from the swirl of dark thoughts, and he made his way to the balcony, where the low hum of murmured voices and tinkling laughter began to subside.

Pushing open the glass doors, he breathed in the fresh night air and nearly stumbled into the man he’d been looking for.

Saito nodded in half-apology, half-acknowledgement of a potential accident before he briskly walked past Robert. 

Phone at his ear, Japanese spilled from his mouth, as he maneuvered between two servers with hors d'oeuvres, leaving the dining room and disappearing into his waiting car before Robert could decide to call out.

Robert stood there silently. 

 

After Inception Takes Place

Waking up blurry-eyed from the airplane ride, Robert slumped against the seats of a company car and fell into a light doze. His head felt heavy, but his chest seemed a bit lighter than it had been for days. Prevalent as his father was in his thoughts, Robert once against morosely considered the old man’s final words. 

Was he such a disappointment? Had his father truly believed that Robert was enacting a pipe dream by pursuing ethanol as an alternative fuel? But Robert had succeeded with his venture; he’d shown his father the diagrams, the letters of interest. 

Then a barely formed idea occurred to him. Maybe his father believed that Robert was limiting himself. Maurice Fischer always felt nothing but contempt for men stuck in ruts and had participated in company events until the point of his sudden seizure and subsequent coma. Maybe Robert needed to step out from his father’s shadow.

That idea comforted Robert for weeks after his father died. Then he had begun to have doubts, and he had begun searching for information, and even though he had found an intimate source, Robert still hesitated even now.

Finally, Robert slit open the heavy envelope to find the sheets of information that he’d been looking for, and he briefly wondered at the savvy businessman who would be foolish enough to retain an alcoholic in the upper echelons of his company.

After reading the last document, he sat back, eyes blinded with tears and anger. He pressed his fists against his temples and told himself that he knew his father. And it had been too good to be true. 

Maurice Fischer said what he meant. Robert was a disappointment. 

Pete came back into room, apparently having decided that ten minutes alone was long enough, and engulfed him in a hug, patting him gingerly on the back.

“Oh, Robert,” he murmured. “Robert. You’ve made me proud. And I hope that you’ve made yourself proud. You did what you set out to do. MEA is a success! And if Maurice were still here, I’m sure that you would have proven it to him eventually, stubborn and contrary as he was.”

Robert supposed that was as much fatherly acceptance as he’d ever get.

 

Before They Get Together

Robert didn’t bother with too many details when he sent his request. The coloring and build was close enough, so he stepped back from the door and led the way to his bedroom. He gripped the dark hair with one hand and devoured the escort’s mouth, desire welling up as his memory replaced his thoughts.

The smirking curves of the man’s lips as he incisively tore down his opponents. The utter self-assurance that marked his firm steps across a room. The smooth voice that Robert had carefully memorized.

Robert hungered for the real thing, and his touch became gentle on the body against him, and his kiss coaxed a surprised moan. He pushed his companion onto the bed, which had been stripped of its covers.

The caresses on his skin felt good but were too cautious, Robert thought hazily. He would be demanding, and no doubt his fingers would leave bruises, his mouth and teeth, their mark.

Robert bit at the arch of collarbone, the salt-slick chest, and he expected a grip in his hair that didn’t come.

Further into their activities, when another moan rose up, Robert stopped it with his fingers. 

A pity, but the voice wasn’t close enough.

 

Fischer’s New Plan

Throwing his tie at the general direction of the armoire, Robert sat down at his desk and leaned back with a sigh. He gulped down the scotch from his snifter and contemplated pouring himself another from the decanter.

He was dismantling his father’s company, and the thought of what he was doing hurt, but the sting lessened as he focused on the inevitable fact that he never had his father’s complete approval, and he would just have to live with it.

He was thirty-four, and he was a grown man. He didn’t need his father to clap him on the shoulder and beam with approval at his actions. 

Anyway, if he was honest with himself, his dad was really quite a dick for most of his life, and Robert actually felt ashamed that he was naïve enough to believe for days that his dad could have a clichéd change of heart just before his death.

His mom had tried to soften his father’s verbal blows and emotional distance while she was alive, before the cancer took her, but for the most part, all she could do was stroke his hair and helplessly explain that Maurice Fischer was a man who had a lot of expectations. 

Understatement.

Robert swirled the golden liquid, and it curled around his glass in an oily wave. It didn’t look enticing anymore, but he emptied the snifter again and refilled it. Two things. He was going to get drunk, and then he was going to decide what the hell he was going to do with his life.

To occupy himself, he shifted idly through the newspapers, pausing for a few minutes on the article entitled, “Senatorial Candidate Caught in Denial.”

Pathetic, Robert scoffed to himself. Politicians lately seemed to fall from pedestals more often and easily than meteors. 

He could do better. 

And he liked that idea. Even more so when he realized that his father had only been a businessman and hadn’t much to do with the politics arena. 

He didn’t have to be his father’s son.

 

The Night Before Fischer Returns the Favor

Robert pushed the other man onto the bed, covers disarranging beneath their thrashing limbs, as they sought to undress each other at the same time. His fingers slowed a bit as he reached for Saito’s buttoned shirt. He wouldn’t take the chance that some unwarranted button tearing would cool the lust that currently darkened Saito’s eyes.

Sweat trickled down his forehead as he moved, and Saito’s tongue followed a path down his cheekbone and over his lip. He shuddered with a spike in arousal and leaned down to return the favor, reveling in the lips that parted for him, accepting his kiss and returning it with a light bite to his tongue.

He ran his hand appreciatively over the well-muscled arm lying over his shoulder and felt a disturbing roughness a few inches in length. He pulled back to examine it more carefully, and Saito made an irritated noise deep in his throat.

“That’s a really bad scar,” Robert said unthinkingly before realizing that such a tactless comment could work as unfortunately as a bucket of cold water.

Saito did tense up, the muscles in his arm cording, his lips tight with unhappiness. Not about to apologize but regretful, Robert reached a hand down past his stomach to distract him.

“Childhood accident,” Saito said abruptly, voice attractively hoarse from their activities, and he laid his hand on Robert’s to encourage a quicker pace below.

Somehow that slight show of vulnerability softened the corners of Robert’s heart, and he pressed closer, bending his head to kiss Saito deeply before gently caressing the scarred arm and laying kisses from the tip of the index finger all the way up to the elbow, where the scar ended in a thin line.

A tug on his hair pulled him back up, and they stared at each other for a long moment; Saito’s eyes were for once readable, and a thoughtful gaze resided in their depths.


End file.
